


Domo Arigato

by isitandwonder



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Armie x Timmy, Blow Jobs, Charmie, Chastity Device, Come Marking, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Kinbaku, M/M, Rough Oral Sex, Spanking, Timmy is a filthy little thing and loves it, slight non-con but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 11:17:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13926039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isitandwonder/pseuds/isitandwonder
Summary: This is my take on the cancelled Japan promo trip. Armie takes Timmy to a Love Hotel to amuse himself during the boring press tour.





	Domo Arigato

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ForYou_InSilence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForYou_InSilence/gifts).



> As they never went over there, this is obviously a work of fiction.   
> Just some pwp for the lovely MonikaKrasnorada as it is her birthday today! Happy birthday, dear! Thanks for everything!

They hadn't wanted to go to Japan. The promo tour had been dragging on for way too long now anyway and the jet lag didn't help either. Armie had even tried to get out of it in Austin, but Sony was having none of it.

Japan had been booked so to Japan they'd been carted off.

But Armie has his own ways of passive resistance. If he has to be here, he can make the best of it. Therefore, after the premiere screening and a Q&A that had been dominated by screaming teenagers, some of which had actually passed out when Timmy had spoken about the peach scene, Armie had just looked at Timmy, raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in invitation, and about five minutes later they'd slipped out the side entrance of the cinema, giggling like school boys.

It isn't easy for a 6'5 white guy to go undercover in Tokyo but Armie knows where he was heading. Sunglasses and two 'I Love Tokyo' hats bought from one of the street stalls help. At least in Ikeburu near the train station they don't stick out like sore thumbs as there are many other Americans filling the bars and clubs.

As Armie seems to know where he's going Timmy just follows until they reach the quarter surrounding the Bungeiza theater. As everything is written in Japanese Timmy can't read any signs. The venue they eventually enter could be anything from a karaoke bar to a a strip club.

It's neither. Knowing Armie, Timmy should have guessed. Only, he hadn't been aware that such places existed.

The light in the room is dim. There's a long counter and some low tables at which shady figures are squatting are scattered around a brightly lit platform. Upon entering, they have to remove their shoes before kneeling on each side of one of the low tables. A person – it's impossible to say if male or female - dressed in black places a jug with two small cups in front of them.

“Arigato.” Armie says, filling both their cups with Sake. “Cheers.” He clinks Timmy's cup but the boy is too preoccupied with what is happening on the platform to pay attention.

“Wow.” He mouths eventually.

“Yep, Kanna san is one of the best Nawashi practicing. He's a true master.”

Timmy has to agree. What the androgynous artist on the platform is doing right now with a long red rope and a slender Japanese woman is remarkable. The rope is wound tightly around her upper body and arms, accentuating her breasts. One leg is bound thigh to shin and is now pulled up as she's suspended from a hook in the ceiling. The woman isn't totally naked but wears in a flowery Hikizuri, rolled down to her waist, exposing her torso rigged in rope.

Armie's eyes are glazed over and that's not just due to the drink. He quickly refills their cups every time they slosh the sharp tepid liquid back. Soon, Timmy feels hot all over.

The bound woman is making needy little noises as her other leg is hoisted up as well, her tendons visibly stretching beneath the rich folds of her silken robe. Timmy licks his lips and feels his pulse quicken. When he turns his head, he notices that Armie isn't watching the stage anymore. He's watching him.

“Uh...” Timmy says.

“Drink up.”

Just as Timmy knocks back the last of the Sake Armie pulls him to his feet. He feels needles and pins in his legs from kneeling on the floor but that's not the only reason he staggers against Armie who has to catch him around the shoulder.

“Easy.” He mumbles into Timmy's hair, his hot breath ghosting over Timmy's sensitive scalp. He shudders.

“Are you cold?” Armie asks, a wicked spark in his eyes.

“Asshole.” Timmy grins against his chest, giving Armie's butt a good squeeze with his left hand slung around Armie's waist.

“Not here.” Armie chides him. 

“But I thought...” Timmy is puzzled. Isn't this some sort of sex club?

“This is not how this works here.” Armie tells him, entangles himself, pays at the counter and makes for the door. Once again, Timmy can only run after him.

“Where are we going?” He asks, a little out of breath as they hit the street again. His head is swimming from the alcohol as well as from the steamy bondage scene he just witnessed. Kinbaku, he reminds himself. Armie had explained it to him.

Armie points to a multistory building at the corner. There's a sign, flickering Japanese characters in pink neon light.

“And what is that?” Timmy asks, a little exasperated.

“A Love Hotel.”

“A Love Hotel?” Timmy echoes. “You mean a brothel?”

“Brothel? Seriously, man, have you just stepped out of a Jane Austen novel? And no, I'm not taking you there to watch you fuck some hoes.”

Timmy is still none the wiser as they enter the building. Behind a blind seems to sit a concierge. Armie quickly negotiates something with the hidden figure, and then cash is exchanged for a key card.

“Arigato.”

“I didn't know you speak Japanese.” Timmy wonders.

“Comes with my fields of interest.” Armie grins as he leads Timmy down a corridor to a door he opens with the card.

The room behind it isn't that spacious, but holds a double futon, another low table and a large mirror on one wall. Another door leads towards a tiny bathroom with a stool and a bucket. Next to it, a third door leads into the toilet with a china basin embedded into the wooden floor next to which sits a pair of bright green clogs. Everything is very clean and functional, nothing sordid in the least.

“So...,” Timmy starts before he's pinned to the door that just closed behind them, hands above his head, held in a vice-like grip in Armie's huge paw.

His other hand roams over Timmy's lithe body, pulling his over-sized sweater up, up, up, exposing smooth creamy skin and taut muscle stretched tight over Timmy's frail rib-cage.

When Armie pinches Timmy's right nipple, the boy outright yelps.

“You like that, don't you?” Armie's voice is a low growl. “Tell me how much you like it when I do this to you.” Armie twists the rosy nub again, hard, pulling on Timmy's rapidly reddening skin. A flush is already showing on his hollow cheeks, spreading down his throat, vanishing in the fabric of the bunched-up hoodie covering his collar bones. His Adam's apple bobs as he tries to swallow another moan, 

“I love it when you do this.” Timmy sighs. “I love it when you hurt me... ouch.”

Timmy's hips snap forward as Armie pinches his other nipple, his short fingernails digging painfully into Timmy's sensitive skin. Armie's mouth is so close, only inches away, pulled into a tight, somewhat cruel smile that Timmy both loves and fears. He moves his head a little, opening his mouth, licking his lower lip so that it's shining wet and enticing but Armie just pulls back and releases him.

Timmy almost buckles over but Armie grabs his hair and shoves him forward into the room. Timmy lands on the the futon on all fours and doesn't dare to move. In this mood, Armie's the one to make the rules and give him orders. Timmy's just there to obey. So he stays still and awaits what's coming for him, panting hard into the folds of his bunched up sweater.

“Undress.”

Timmy's quick to follow, pulling the hoodie over his head before toeing off his Converse and socks and shimmying out of his trousers. He keeps his pants on, though, because sometimes Armie likes to take them off.

He's been right. He can feel the hard mattress dip behind himself and then Armie's hands are on him, grabbing, stroking, massaging his arse before eventually pulling his white boxer briefs down, exposing two mounds of perfectly pale flesh.

“Spread your legs.”

Timmy does.

“Wider.”

Timmy's blushing deep as he imagines how he must look like, his thighs parted wide, his crack exposed just like Armie likes it, giving him a nice view at the most private part of Timmy's body. With the intense shame comes a wave of arousal that still surprises Timmy. He'd never thought of himself as the submissive type but here he is, getting hard and wet at Armie's orders. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, already leaking.

“If you touch yourself or come without permission, I'll put you in chastity when we get back. Do you remember the last time?”

Timmy does. Armie had locked his cock away for their whole European trip as a punishment for allegedly ignoring him at the Globes. It had not only been frustrating as hell, having to sit next to Armie, having to listen to him talking about his testicles and how much Timmy liked sex, it had become outright painful after a while. Timmy had felt like his balls were bursting; every movement had become agony. Armie had just grinned and placed a hand at his waist to pose for the photographers.

Timmy hadn't been allowed to come before they'd all returned to LA. Armie had filmed him as he'd desperately fucked his own fist while kneeling on the wooden floor of Armie's and Elizabeth's lounge, literally sobbing with need. Afterwards, he had to lick up every drop of come he'd shot all over the gleaming parquet floor, thank Armie for his punishment, kiss his hand and promise to be a good boy.

It's still one of Armie's favorite wanking videos when he's alone.

“Yes. I will be good, I promise.” Timmy says out loud.

“Good boy. Now show me what a horny slut you are, Timothèe. Finger yourself open for me. Come on.” A light swat on his arse is all the encouragement he needs.

“But where's the lube?” He asks breathless.

“There's no lube, babe. You'll have to make do.” Armie loves to tease him that one day he'll fuck him dry. Timmy fears the pain but gets simultaneously dizzy with arousal.

Today, however, he's at least allowed to suck two fingers into his mouth, making them slick with spit before pushing in. He knows it must look debased but that's how Armie wants him, like a needy whore moaning to be taken.

Soon, he adds a third finger and at his sharp intake of breath as he breaches himself, stretching his already burning hole even further, he can hear Armie groan in approval.

Timmy's head is hanging low as he braces himself on one wiry arm, his dark curls hiding his face like a silky curtain. Thus out of sight he starts to babble: “God, Armie, I want this to be you. I want your fingers inside me, wrecking my hole, stretching me open for your fat cock. Please, fuck me, just push in and take me, rip me apart, ruin me. I want to feel you move deep inside me, I want to touch my belly and feel your cock thrust into me. Come inside me, fill me up to the rim and then watch your come leak from my gaping hole, make me finger myself afterwards even if it hurts and lick my fingers clean while kneeling in front of you and you pet my hair...”

He's so worked up by now that he truly fears he might come untouched so he adds a fourth finger to let the pain ground him. Armie helps him just a little by pulling his buttocks a bit wider apart to ease the access.

“You have such a filthy mouth, Timothèe. What a wicked boy you are.” He can hear how turned on Armie is from the slight slur with which he draws out his name.

“Do you like me like this? Am I a good little slut for you?” Timmy is panting hard by now and his movements speed up and become erratic as he fucks himself on his fingers in earnest. The pain is making him even harder and he can feel his cock twitch in anticipation, his balls already drawn tight. “Oh god, please, I'm coming... please...” he shouts and removes his fingers just in time to stop his release, squeezing the base of his throbbing cock.

He can feel his hole gaping open and knows that his rim must be red and swollen from the brutal treatment. A light flashes. Armie has taken a pic. Another one. He loves to show these to Timmy afterwards, to heighten his humiliation. Sometimes he sends him pics like this when he's in public, at an interview or an awards show. The idea of someone seeing these pics both mortifies Timmy and gives him an instant boner.

“I didn't tell you to stop.” Armie's cross with him, Timmy can tell. It's no surprise when a large hand swats his arse, hard, but Timmy jumps nonetheless and gasps.

“You're such a horny little bugger.” Armie hisses as he brings his hand down again and again on Timmy's white bum, giving him a good firm spanking until Timmy screams into the futon, his reddened arse high up in the air, wanting more but dreading each blow nonetheless.

“Please... give it to me... I'm such a mess... I need it... please... I deserve it... oh god please...” Timmy whimpers and whines as Armie beats him raw. He's sure there'll be bruises. He'll have trouble sitting on the plane back to the States. Armie will watch him wiggle in his seat and know what's up. Maybe he'll tell him to masturbate in the toilet without locking the door so anyone could walk in on him? Or he might make Timmy come in his pants and won't allow him to change, having to sit in his soiled underwear for the whole duration of the flight, maybe even with a dark wet patch showing over his crotch for anyone to see...

Timmy has to close his eyes and think of Armie's wife, naked and with spread legs, to step back from the ledge before plunging right into oblivion.

Meanwhile, Armie has stopped hitting him. He's now stroking and squeezing the marred flesh he's bludgeoned, making Timmy moan even more. It hurts. It stings. His skin feels on fire. He's barely conscious with arousal, all the blood in his body pooling at his groin.

“Turn around.” Armie grunts and Timmy has trouble processing the order at first so gone is he. Yet he somehow manages to lie on his back, staring up at Armie, wide-eyed and blissed out.

“Pull your legs up.” Timmy does, grabbing his knees and bringing them up to his shoulders. He's obscenely exposed like this, just as Armie wants him.

Timmy looks up at Armie from hooded eyes, his hard, wet cock slapping against his concave belly while Armie's still fully dressed yet there's an enormous bulge showing at the front of his track suit bottoms. Only now does he pull them down together with his pants and allows his erection to spring free. The sight of it never fails to impress and arouse Timmy to no end: The veined shaft, the already exposed spongy head, the thick crown, all ten inches of it resting in a bed of soft golden curls around its base. Timmy instinctively licks his lips and that's all he can do before the wet cock head nudges against his lips, painting them with salty precome.

Armie's shuffled up the bed and now squats over Timmy's head, facing his spread arse. It would be a perfect 69 position if Armie was the giving type. Which he isn't.

“Open.”

Armie slides in deep when Timmy obeys. He fucks his throat without mercy, gliding over Timmy's tongue before hitting the back of his throat, not bothering with Timmy's gag reflex.

“Suck. Swallow.” He grunts, pushing deeper and deeper, cutting off Timmy's air supply. Timmy is drooling by now and Armie laughs at him, at his feeble attempts to breath until all resistance is knocked out off Timmy and he just takes it.

“Touch your throat. Squeeze it. Can you feel me?”

Timmy can and makes a sound somewhere between a moan and a retch. Armie snorts another laugh.

“Poor thing.” He has to hold on to Timmy's shins as not to topple over but now takes one hand away and smears it through the saliva coating Timmy's chin. It's so humiliating that Timmy has to close his eyes until Armie suddenly pulls out.

“Look at me.”

Timmy's gulps in air as his eyes snap open just in time to see Armie's cock pulse and twitch in his fist right above his face. The first hot streak hits his cheek and wet jaw, but then Armie moves a little so that the next loads land in his messy curls. Armie's staring down at Timmy so intensely that he doesn't dare move.

Eventually, when Armie is spend, he wipes his cock on Timmy's hair, cleaning himself up like this. Timmy would have loved to lick him clean but today he isn't lucky. 

Doubly so as his own cock is still rock hard but Armie doesn't care.

“What does a good boy say afterwards?” Armie asks, pulling Timmy up to kneel in front of him on the futon. His ruined, wrecked lover looks up at him, lips swollen, face flushed, come drying in his hair and on his face, his red, leaking cock bobbing in front of him, having left a coating of precome around his bellybutton. 

“Domo Arigato.” Timmy mumbles, lowering his head. Armie smiles down at him as the warm happiness he always experiences when Timmy submits to him like this floods his system.

“Get dressed. I only rented the room for an hour. And don't you dare to brush your hair or wipe your face. I want anyone to see what a dirty slut you are.” Armie grins devilishly as he walks over into the tiny bathroom.

Timmy almost dies of embarrassment as Armie forces him to walk back to their hotel with come in his hair and spit drying on his face, his trousers visibly tented by a massive erection that simply won't go away despite him being treated like a cheap whore. Or perhaps that's precisely what turns him on...


End file.
